


Elevator Down, Two Doors Across.

by butterymelons



Category: Homestuck
Genre: ??? - Freeform, F/M, Highschoolstuck, Masturbation, apartmentstuck, i honestly don't know, or whatever this would be called, what
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-18
Updated: 2013-04-14
Packaged: 2017-11-26 00:30:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/644575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butterymelons/pseuds/butterymelons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Friends John, Rose, Dave, and Jade all live in a set of shabby apartments in the middle of America where they are currently enrolled in their third year of high school. Along with their odd parental figures and siblings, how did their group manage to survive this long? All by a simple rule, really - platonic is priority. But as Dave begins to develop a rapid infatuation with his snarky pal Rose, what will the world come to?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anticeptic Visitation

**Author's Note:**

> also this isn't josie it's juels  
> what am i doing on here

"Hey, Bro."  
"Yeah, kid?"

Dave Strider looks at his other, younger brother and hesitates.  
"We got any more rubbing alcohol?"

Silence. You immediately regrets being so direct.  
"What did you two little shits get into this time?"

"Nothing-" you being, only to be cut off by said other brother.  
"He interrupted my Skype with English and told him that I, er, uh, that part doesn't matter!" Dirk often stumbles over his words when facing off against you. No one beats the youngest Strider's subtle smirk and lazily risen eyebrow 2X COMBO.

"We ain't got shit, and you know that. Y'all used it all up on Wednesday's strife after I proceeded to beat both of y'all's asses." Bro glances at you both from the kitchen, taking in the slashes on your chest and Dirk's neck, and eventually sighs. "Go ask the Lalondes, I don't want blood all over the place."

The pair of you looked at each other.  
"Why the Lalondes?" Dirk complains.

Bro huffs and then snorts, "Why do you think? Got more alcohol in that place than a fire's dream."  
An audible pause ensues. 

"Dave, since your brother seems to be incapable of speech, go get the fucking stuff."  
"Why can't I just go to John's? He's closer."

"Egberts having any form of alcohol in that safe haven they call a home? Yeah, sure." Bro finally stepped out of the kitchen, revealing what he was doing as they spoke; a newly sewn, bright orange smuppet in his hand. He tossed it to Dirk. "Have fun, kid."

Dirk groaned and threw the thing back to Bro, who let it hit his face without a change in demeanor whatsoever. "I hate all of you," he proclaimed, throwing his arms up in an exasperated manner, and retreated to the sanctity of his and yours shared bedroom.  
Bro bent to pick up the puppet, and you knew you were next on the list of smuppet tryouts.

You abscond through the front door out into the hallway.

Readjusting your hair to appear slightly disheveled and stuffing your hands into your pockets, you stride confidently towards the middle elevator that will take you up a level to the Lalonde household.

On the way, you pass John’s house and catch the familiar scent of baking goods that seem to linger around the place. You smile, recalling the first time you had eaten dinner at the Egbert residence, and even more vividly, the recollection of dessert.

Fucking delicacies.

As you reach the elevators and select the fourth floor, you hardly notice the marginally taller male also in the machine.  
“Hey, uh, Dave.”

You sigh. “Sup, Nitram.” Sometimes you wish that the majority of students attending your school were not living in this complex.

“School in, what is it, um, just three days, right?” The poor dude is still wearing his prosthetic legs and using crutches to carry himself around. Your thoughts mindlessly wonder how his girlfriend, Vriska, puts up with him and that speech impediment.  
“Yeah man.” Tavros looks far too invigorated into the conversation. You breathe a note of thanks when you reach the right floor.

After a short loop to the general bathroom to check your hair, you start chewing gum and throw on a ratty, badly stitched hoodie.

You know for a fact this drives Lalonde crazy.

Nothing worse than a poorly sewn article of clothing to set her on edge.

You don’t know why you care.

Confidently taking a left, and upon reaching the second door, you knock two times in rapid succession. Lord knows no one will ever hear the faint ring of a doorbell in this house.

“Who’s thereeeeeeeeeeee?” You hear, the voice raising up and down an octave. It is the most audible thing above the distant sound of a vacuum and an even fainter violin.  
“It’s just me, Roxy.”

The door flies open, and you’re met with purple scarf-ridden teen with a martini glass barely hanging on in her loose grip. Her short blond hair is perfect curled and is bouncing along with her as she hugs you and squeals.  
“Daaaaaaave! You’re taller than me already! When did this happen!” Roxy lets go of you, revealing that one of the two Lalonde cats are in her arms. You reach over to scratch its ear.

“What a champ, Jaspers.”  
Roxy laughs and swats your hand away. “Jaspers is Rose’s cat, Dave! Mutie is the one with the little white eyebrows, daw.” She traces them on the cat’s face, making it twitch its nose.

“Yeah well that’s nice Roxy, but right now me and Dirk are seriously lacking in the antiseptic group and we kinda need some for this past strife-“  
“What did you two do this time!” Roxy raises her hands, making Mutie leap from her arms to the sofa, landing on a pile of books and causing an avalanche. The gesture, much like Dirk’s, makes you want to grin. Roxy is Dirk’s blanket; always clinging to her in public and calling her in the middle of the night to turn to her for shelter against Bro and yourself.  
While you’re thinking, Roxy leads you into the kitchen and you sit on the bar stool to look over at her searching through the cabinets. “I swear you two get into more fights than cats-“ She was scolding, before her voice was too muffled by the inside of a shelf to hear.

What you do hear is Roxy’s ringtone and a thud as she tries to get out under the cabinet.  
“Yo, DiStri, what’s up.” She rests her elbows on the counter and grins. The grin is slowly replaced by a dramatically shocked face, though. “They said what?” She covers the end of the phone and asks you, “What did you say to that boy?” Rolling her eyes and leaving the kitchen, Roxy attempts to comfort the blabbering boy by saying things like, “No, shush, Roxy’s here, hon.”

You groan, and are about to get up to search for the alcohol yourself, before you notice the noise of the violin is gone and that Rose is behind you, cleaning up the fallen pile of books and knitting that Mutie wrecked.  
“Hello, Dave.” She sighs, and you can’t help but notice she’s wearing that stupidly ironic shirt you got her last birthday that reads “What are YOU reading?” It’s still big on her, and it covers most of her already too short shorts. Like all Lalondes, she has the trademark black lipstick on.

You stop looking.

“Sup, Lalonde.” You move your eyes sideways to avoid her glare, but your shades appear to be directly focused on her.  
“I’m assuming Roxy was retrieving a well needed item for you, after that strife.”

Now you’re staring at her.

“How’d you know?”  
She saunters past you into the kitchen, stopping in front of your barstool and gently poking your chest. You look down. Blood, in an arc, has started to seep through your white record shirt and is clearly visible. You swear.  
“Dammit!” Another shirt destroyed by a fucking strife. Figures.

“You left a spare one here from when John and Jade came over last Saturday night, and you had to change to go to Sunday morning Mass. It’s in the hallway closet by the bathroom.” She grins and bends over to get the antiseptic from a completely different drawer than Roxy. You ignore that her shirt rides up and you can see all of her shorts for the first time. Go get the shirt, dumbass.

After retrieving your shirt, you suppose a quick glance at how you look wouldn’t hurt. You close the bathroom door and take off your shades.  
Your cheeks are as red as your eyes. Fantastic. You absolutely hate that this bathroom smells like her, that you’re certain that purple towel hanging on the shower door is hers, and that you can imagine her taking a shower in there every night.

It’s driving you slightly insane.

What the fuck is wrong with you?

You quickly take off your bloody shirt and slip your shades back on before you can think any more about her. To be honest, you wonder why you like her so much. You could just as easily be attracted to Jade – who is equally as close to you.

It has to be something about Rose’s attitude, that she always has a comeback for your sarcasm, her own irony always threatening to overpower yours, how fast she can construct her words to leave you lost.  
Her snarky personality adds to it, you suppose. Her love of literature and writing, always jotting down a story in her journals instead of taking notes in class. And the way she can play that violin – the first time you heard it you had to clench your mouth to stop from gaping.  
And you love John just as much as any other friend, but you will never forgive him for getting Rose’s first kiss in a game of spin the bottle.

She’s the only person to ever see you with your shades off except Bro.  
And she didn’t even flinch.

You exit the bathroom, deciding that you’ve spent enough time in there to rise a slight suspicion. You come back out without a shirt, because your cut still hasn’t stopped bleeding. Rose is waiting for you in the living room, reading on the arm rest of the couch and hands you the rubbing alcohol without looking up.  
“If you want to clean up before you go home, there are some towels under the sink.”  
“Thanks.”

You fail to notice her subtle blush as you walk by.

You make quick work the wound – it didn’t manage to go too deep – and throw the towels into the bathroom as a courtesy. Donning your fresh shirt, you lift one hand as a farewell in Rose’s direction. “See ya, Lalonde.”  
“As with you, Strider.”

You come back home and immediately want to just sleep. Unfortunately, Dirk meets you at the door with his arms crossed, and foot tapping. “Well? Where’s the stuff, bro?”  
You want to facepalm. Instead, you moan and shove him out the door. “Go get it yourself!” Sagging into your room, you lock the door and push back the covers to lift up your mattress. Underneath it, you pull out a crumpled white shirt, much like yours, with the exception of the icon being a lavender squiddle.

You bring it to your nose and sigh. You had acquired the shirt in the same manner as Rose had yours; forgotten at a night spent over.

The sound of your jeans shifting slightly down your hips makes you start. You hate that you know what’s going to happen next. Closing your eyes, you inhale Lalonde’s scent again, making short work of your boxers in the same manner as your jeans, and slowly grasp your dick.

You’re pretty sure you loathe yourself.

But holy shit, can you imagine her face as she fucks you. You can see the smirk and her flushed face, the weight of her body on yours. She’d top – you know that for a fact.

And damn it all if that doesn’t turn you on.

You start pumping faster with one hand, pushing up your shirt to drag your nails down your stomach with the other. Your back arches on its own accord, toes curling as you imagine Rose biting down your neck. “Fuuuuuuuck,” you moan, it coming out barely a breath. She’d tug your hair and scratch your scalp, you just know it.  
You do exactly that.

“Rose, oh my go-“ You can’t talk anymore. You want her lips silencing you instead of you, on your own accord.

Or maybe a gag.

When you smell her shirt one more time, and imagine that scent tangled with yours, you absolutely loose it, coming on your once clean shirt.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you go through too many fucking shirts like this.


	2. Call Ups

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> hmm one weekend before high school starts again how awful  
> time for our young quartet to celebrate

The next day dawns with you sprawled out in your bed. This would be a normal rising situation for you, but by chance you manage to remember that your junior year of high school starts in just two days. You, John, Jade, and Rose haven't had your customary summer celebration yet, either.

Groping for your phone on the nightstand through your shades and dim room, you punch the speed dial to John's number, and pray he answers this early in the morning.

"Dave?"  
You exhale. "Egbert, thought you wouldn't answer this early."  
"It's past noon, Dave. More specifically, 12:51."  
Damn. Maybe not so early.  
"Listen, I don't give a shit. What I _do_ chose to give a shit about is how close the school year is to coming. I'm so fucking serious I won't even make the joke on that wording. We need to have the congregational palooza of junior year to kick this piece of shit off. Tomorrow's Sunday so you know Bro ain't gonna let me do squat. Are you open later today? I still gotta ask the girls."  
"Yeah, my dad's working all day so any time's good! Who's place?"  
You pause. Hadn't exactly thought of that. "I don't know, who held it last?"  
"Jade was last year and I was before that. Looks like you or Lalonde can decide between hosting junior or senior year!"  
"Fuck. Let me ask Bro, just a second."

You set your phone down and open your door a slit to peek out into the hallway. Dirk's door is opened and rap music is flowing from it, so you know Bro isn't home. He wouldn't put up with Dirk's music blaring throughout the house like that. You go into his room and lean on the door frame.

"Hey."  
"Yes?" He's working on those stupid auto responder shades again.  
"Where's Bro?"  
Dirk stops fussing with them and pushes his glasses up. Reaching over a stack of papers, he pulls out a small crumpled note. He hands it over to you, and you unfold it to reveal Bro's illegible scribbles. After twisting and turning, and realizing that a sword doodle was two L's, it read:

"Gig in Dallas. Be in bed by 9:00 pm and tuck yourselves in for once you little shits."

"You think he'd know if a couple people came over-" you begin to ask, but a shriek interrupts you.  
Dirk had pulled his laptop out and started a Skype with Roxy. Dirk rolled his eyes under his shades, but you grinned at Roxy.  
"Dave, you look absolutely adorable in those pajamas, oh my gosh." Your smile vanishes, and you look down. You never changed out of what you were sleeping in. Dirk is suppressing a fit of laughter, but as soon as one snort slips, a torrent of ridicule spurts on your dignity.  
"Yeah, well, thanks Roxy not many get the privilege of seeing a Strider-"

You're cut off a second time by the entrance of the other Lalonde, carrying a basket of laundry into her sister's room. "Dear, would it be too much to ask you to pick up these-" Rose cuts a glance at Dirk laughing, now slamming his fist on the desk, and then at you - standing in a shock induced stupor - more specifically, at your black and red Scottie dog pj's Bro got you as a Christmas gift.

She bursts out a grin and covers her mouth. "Oh my, Dave. I never knew such apparel was suiting for one of your A-class irony status."  
The burning blush that previously existed turned into the freaking flames of Hephaestus across your cheeks. "Fuck you, Lalonde, this _is_ A-class irony in action. You taking notes? Get that journal out and _learn_."

Her laughter subsides, somewhat, and she leans into the screen. "At least I know what to get you for your birthday, Mr. Strider." Rose's eyelashs batted at you as she winked.  
Is she shitting you?  
No.  
She winked.  
She actually.  
Does she think she can one up you like that?

"It is a rather intimate thing to be given, granted. Perhaps that's what's fueling that blush, Dave." She turns as the phone rings behind her. "I'll get that," she calls to Roxy as she walks away. At the door, she waves in your direction and you want to scream.  
You need to leave this hellish trap of a room.

But Dirk is looking at you, the biggest, shittiest grin smeared across his face. "What did you need, again?" You open your mouth to speak, but instead clench your fists and spin on your heel away.

It's still too early for this in your book.

You head back to your room and remember John waiting for you. Maybe you could pull off just a small group coming over without Bro finding out? Yeah right.  
John had disconnected. That little dork thinks he can- okay, well, he's calling you back.  
"Dave?"  
"Dave is currently unavailable due to tragic events, such as John disconnecting his call-"  
"Oh shut up, you had me on hold forever! Anyway, I hung up to call Rose! She said her place would be fine for tonight! Looks like you got out of it for another year, dude."

John's call must have been the one Rose answered. That means you indirectly owe John your life, or at least a short future of more of Rose's ridicule.

"Is Jade okay with this all? And what time are we meeting?"  
"She's down with it all, man! And we're meeting at Rose's around 4:30. You think I should bring some movies to-"  
"John. Calm down. Let's save the movies for the lock-in party."  
"Aww, but everyone falls asleep during that one."  
"Point in fact. See you at 4, Egbert."

You sigh and start the long day ahead of you before you can show your face in front of Rose again.

**Author's Note:**

> don't kill me
> 
> ironically this is for the owner of this account josie  
> who i enticed into shipping dersecest


End file.
